Death Is Not Enough

by Karen Rose

  He’d made his case. The ball was in her court.

  But this morning she was clearly as messed up as he was. He only had to look at her to realize she hadn’t slept at all either. She had dark circles under her eyes, well hidden by her makeup but still visible to anyone who knew her. And Thorne had watched her face for twelve long years. He knew every curve and line intimately.

  She was dressed conservatively and that annoyed him. Gwyn didn’t dress conservatively. Gwyn was out there, flashy. Herself. But he knew she’d be trying to make a good impression today, so he said nothing. Although it annoyed him even more that she thought she had to be someone else to make that good impression. That she’d thought it the night before as she’d packed her bag with the clothes she only wore to funerals and to court.

  There was absolutely nothing wrong with who she was. He’d tried to figure out how to tell her that, but no words had come, so he’d let it go.

  Now the four of them were in front of Prew’s house, and Thorne found he was nervous. Not a feeling he cared for at all. ‘Who’s on point with Prew?’ he asked when they’d exited the van.

  ‘I am,’ Phil said. ‘At least at the beginning. I’m thinking Jamie should take over if Prew is comfortable talking to all of us.’

  Thorne stopped mid-step. ‘What do you mean, “if”? Doesn’t he know we’re about to descend on him?’

  ‘No,’ Phil said, ‘he’s only expecting me, but he knows it’s about you, so I think he’ll be okay with the four of us. Come on, Thorne. We don’t want to be late.’

  Thorne followed with a scowl until he caught Gwyn scowling back at him. ‘What?’

  ‘Behave, Thorne,’ she hissed. ‘Phil is nervous enough.’

  ‘So am I,’ he hissed back.

  ‘But you’re supposed to be the pro at this. How many times have you walked into a detective’s office to ask questions?’

  ‘This isn’t his office. It’s his home. And I’ve never been asking about myself!’

  ‘Then pretend it’s not about you. Pretend it’s about me. That I’m being set up for murder. Then you find that fire of yours, because I want this over. I want you to be able to live without either murder hanging over your head for the rest of your life.’

  He stared at her, then realized she was right. He shook himself, irritated that he’d allowed a homicide detective to rattle him. It was just . . . ‘This whole thing makes me feel seventeen again,’ he confessed.

  Her smile was patient. ‘I know it does. Just remember who you are. Thomas Thorne, who eats prosecutors for breakfast and spits out their bones.’

  He swallowed a laugh. ‘I think you should keep that visual to yourself. I am being framed for homicide, after all.’

  ‘True,’ she allowed.

  ‘Thank you.’ He’d needed to laugh. He’d needed her to steady him.

  Her expression was sober as she nodded. ‘You’re welcome.’

  They were greeted at the front door by a gray-haired African-American man around Jamie’s age, and the years seemed to fall away. Thorne remembered this guy, remembered his eyes, which had been so hard to read. He’d never seen Prew in anything other than a suit and tie, but today he’d dressed casually in a polo shirt and khaki pants. A set of golf clubs leaned against the foyer wall. It appeared that the man was enjoying his retirement. He looked a little surprised to see a group instead of just Phil, but he rolled with it.

  ‘Please sit down,’ he said, once he’d led them to the living room.

  ‘Thank you for seeing us on short notice,’ Phil said. ‘Christopher Prew, this is Jamie Maslow, Gwyn Weaver and Thomas Thorne.’

  Prew nodded at each of them, but when he came to Thorne, he gave him a long look. ‘I’ve watched your career over the years. I’ve been impressed, even though I think defense attorneys are one step down from IRS agents.’

  Thorne found himself smiling. ‘Thank you.’

  Prew grinned. ‘You’re welcome. I apologize that I don’t have refreshments to offer. My wife is out and . . . well, I didn’t realize there would be four of you. You’d have to fight over the two Danishes I bought this morning.’

  ‘Our apologies for not warning you. We weren’t sure that Thorne would be up to the trip,’ Gwyn said. ‘He was in the hospital yesterday.’

  Prew frowned at that. ‘I heard. You’ve got yourself some trouble, Mr Thorne. Although I remember you as Mr White.’

  ‘I changed my name back to that of my birth father after the trial. My stepfather was a cruel man, as I’m sure you recall. I didn’t want to bear his name.’

  ‘I don’t blame you,’ Prew agreed. ‘White was a piece of work for sure. A bully and a thug. So. What can I do for you all this morning?’

  ‘We’re here to talk to you about Thorne’s case nineteen years ago,’ Jamie said. ‘The murder yesterday was set up to appear similar to that of Richard Linden.’

  Prew’s brows went up. ‘Shit.’

  Gwyn leaned forward, meeting the detective’s eyes. ‘Somebody wants to hurt Thorne. We need to know how they got the information about the Linden case.’

  ‘They could have read the court transcripts,’ Prew said, but not unkindly.

  ‘There were a few details that the court transcripts didn’t contain,’ Jamie told him. ‘Because Montgomery County PD, for whatever reason, held them back.’

  ‘Patricia Segal’s body had a key ring embedded in one of her wounds.’ Thorne watched the man’s face for his reaction. ‘It appeared to be made from a medal. A key was still attached to the ring.’

  Prew’s brows shot up. ‘We never released that information.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Thorne said quietly. ‘Yet someone knew. Someone deliberately chose to murder the sister of the young man I’d been accused of killing in a way that was similar to his murder. I want to know how and why. We’re hoping you have some thoughts on it, or at least can help us find a few of the people who were involved in my case back then.’

  ‘Like?’ Prew asked, again not unkindly.

  ‘Like the EMTs who took Richard to the hospital,’ Jamie said. ‘The cops first on the scene. The ER doctors who declared him dead. The ME and any morgue personnel who touched his body. Anyone who was involved in the episode that led to Thorne’s expulsion, because they either perjured themselves on the stand or disappeared and refused to testify at all. But before we discuss any of those people, I’d like to know why the police chose to suppress the existence of the key ring.’

  Prew scrunched his eyes closed. ‘Starting with the softball questions, are we?’ He sighed. ‘I shouldn’t be talking to you at all.’

  ‘Then why are you?’ Gwyn asked softly.

  Prew met her eyes. ‘Who are you exactly? How do you connect? Phil I know, and Jamie I remember. You’re new.’

  ‘Well, not so new,’ Gwyn said, flashing the retired detective a sweet smile that made Thorne want to chuckle because it was so utterly bullshit. ‘I work with Thorne. I was his paralegal for several years. Now we partner in our club.’

  ‘Sheidalin,’ Prew said, surprising both of them.

  ‘You know it?’ Thorne asked.

  ‘Took my wife there a few years back. She’d heard about this violinist. One of your other partners, as I recall. We enjoyed the performance. Although it was . . . different.’

  ‘That was Lucy,’ Gwyn said, and Thorne could tell she knew exactly where the detective was going with this. She was a better bullshitter than Prew was. ‘Who is, as I’m sure you know, an ME and is now married to one of BPD’s finest, JD Fitzpatrick. So do we pass muster, Detective Prew?’

  His lips twitched. ‘Yeah. Fitzpatrick is a good cop and I’ve worked with Lucy Trask in the past. My wife went to the club with me on my request. I couldn’t believe the prim-and-proper ME was the performer shown in the paper. But she was.’ He gave Gwyn a shrewd look. ‘You run the place yourselves?�
��

  ‘With a few managers, yes. Why?’

  ‘Because after Phil called me yesterday, I was curious. And a little . . . cautious. So I visited your club again. The mood was decidedly different than it was the first time I went. Much more tense, but not in a good way.’

  Thorne stiffened and glanced at Gwyn. He hadn’t even thought about the club last night. She just lifted a brow and turned back to Prew. ‘How so? According to the manager on duty, there were no fights, no disagreements. Everyone liked the band.’

  Prew didn’t blink. ‘Well, your manager on duty left a few things out. There was a major disturbance. Your bouncer grabbed two guys by the collar and carried them out like they were puppy dogs. Tossed them out like garbage.’

  ‘Which,’ Gwyn said amiably, ‘as it turns out, they were.’ She glanced up at Thorne. ‘More assholes trying to deal out of the club.’

  Thorne shrugged, some of his stiffness receding. ‘That’s a near-nightly occurrence, Detective. Tell us something we don’t know. Our club is clean and we work hard to keep it that way.’

  ‘So said your employees. You were definitely the topic of conversation, Mr Thorne. Your employees are loyal. And they didn’t trust me, for sure.’

  ‘They don’t know you,’ Gwyn said, still amiably. ‘They know us. They know we’re honest and we don’t tolerate anything illegal. They know we pay their salaries and health insurance on time, and that we create a safe space for them to work. We even have a part-time nursery in the back now. Soundproofed, staffed and secure.’

  Her tone was mild, but her chin lifted and Thorne caught the pride in her eyes when she looked up at him. ‘Right, Thorne?’

  ‘Absolutely. It’s not an easy job, but Gwyn runs a tight ship. What does this have to do with the question Jamie asked you?’

  ‘It doesn’t. I’m answering the question Miss Weaver asked me.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said with a nod. ‘Which was why you’re talking to us. I still don’t get it. I mean, we could have paid our people to say nice things. We are performers, you know. If they couldn’t play their role, they’re not much good to us on stage. Yes?’

  Prew chuckled. ‘Yes.’ Then he sobered. ‘I was more interested in what the people who got kicked out said. I followed them for a block or two. I mean, they were drug dealers and it wasn’t so long ago that I was a cop. They were pretty rattled, actually. They stopped to call their boss, who’d apparently figured that with you out of the way, Mr Thorne, the way would be clear for them to deal from your club. I couldn’t hear what the boss said, but he didn’t seem too happy if their expressions were any indication. They were literally shaking in their shoes.’ He shrugged. ‘I figured that spoke well of you, so I’ll tell you what I can.’

  Jamie crossed his arms. ‘Then start by telling me why the police suppressed the key ring Thorne found in Richard’s body.’

  Prew looked uncomfortable. ‘My boss decided it should be so. At the time he wanted to hold the existence – and disappearance – of the key ring back in case it was discovered during the course of the investigation. Whoever had it couldn’t claim they were a copycat because, theoretically, only the killer would have known about it. I didn’t get it, but I was pretty new to homicide then. I didn’t know him that well, so I pushed back. I wanted it in the record because at the very beginning I wasn’t sure if you’d killed Richard or not, Mr Thorne. My boss told me to back off. That I had no idea what I was stirring up. I didn’t realize he was so susceptible to community pressure.’

  ‘I assume you mean from Richard’s father,’ Thorne said. ‘But why? That doesn’t make any sense.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Prew admitted. ‘I heard later that Mrs Linden had a nervous breakdown, and the “violation” of her stepson’s body was what pushed her over the edge.’

  ‘Stepson?’ Gwyn asked.

  Prew nodded. ‘Richard’s mother was the first Mrs Linden. She didn’t have a nervous breakdown. I was surprised that the second Mrs Linden would. She seemed too controlled to lose her cool – or to have admitted it, anyway. It also bothered me that the medal had shoved her off the edge. I mean, Richard was gutted like a deer. That someone had shoved something inside his body didn’t seem all that much worse. At any rate, I think it makes more sense that it was pressure from Linden rather than any desire to preserve the investigation that kept the key ring out of the records. The existence of a key ring made from a sports medal would have been a major clue, especially since your medal had also gone missing, Mr Thorne.’

  ‘Which was why we didn’t push it back then,’ Thorne said. ‘But I’m pushing it now, because that damn key ring, or at least a replica, has turned up again.’

  ‘I wish I’d pushed harder to have it included in the trial now,’ Prew said, his regret evident.

  Jamie sighed. ‘So do I. Okay, we know now that this key ring is of vital importance. Back to the people who might have come into contact with it.’ He handed Prew the list of first responders and morgue personnel who’d handled Richard’s body. ‘Know any of these?’

  Prew scanned the list. ‘I would have interviewed them as part of the investigation. I’ve kept all my notes, so I can check, but I don’t remember any of . . . Oh, wait. I know this name. The morgue tech. Kirby Gilson.’

  Prew hesitated and Thorne grew impatient. ‘What do you know about him?’

  Prew looked up. ‘Well, mostly that he’s dead. He was shot at a scene he was responding to. First responders didn’t know there was still an active shooter, so they’d called the morgue techs in. I didn’t investigate the homicide, but I remember the funeral. He had a wife, and a kid who had leukemia or something like that. We took up a collection for them.’

  ‘When was this?’ Thorne asked, making a note to have Lucy check on the man’s work history.

  Prew frowned. ‘Maybe ten years ago? Fifteen years, at the most. Are you thinking he was shot deliberately?’

  ‘We don’t know what we’re thinking,’ Thorne said, frustrated. ‘But we have to start somewhere. What about the others on the list?’

  Prew handed the paper back to Jamie. ‘I know the ER doctor, because my kids played sports and we ended up in the ER too many times back then. He’s passed on too. Stroke, I think. Or maybe a heart attack. He was a good guy. The rest of the names, I don’t know. I’m not saying they’re good or bad. I just don’t know. It’s been nineteen years.’

  ‘Well, then, what about Angela Ospina?’ Phil said. ‘She’s the girl who Thorne was trying to protect when this whole debacle began. I couldn’t find her.’

  ‘Oh, that’s an easy one. She runs a hair salon in Bethesda. Upscale. Very high-class clientele.’

  ‘Good for her,’ Thorne murmured. She’d pulled herself up by her bootstraps.

  The retired detective made a face. ‘Maybe. Maybe not. You know we tried to get her to testify for you in your trial.’

  Thorne sat back in his chair, surprised in a warm way. ‘No, I didn’t know that. Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome, of course, but I was just doing my job. Angie Ospina was a missing link, a loose thread. After your arrest, she disappeared. Her father said she’d run away, but we didn’t believe him. He was far too eager to see us go. Most parents want the cops’ help when their teenaged daughters run off.’

  ‘Where do you think she went?’ Thorne asked.

  ‘She was with her aunt in . . .’ Prew frowned. ‘Somewhere west. Kansas or Iowa or Nebraska. Some state with corn.’

  Thorne chuckled, surprising himself. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘But when she came back, what happened? Did the Lindens bother her?’

  Prew’s frown intensified. ‘No. On the contrary. They fronted her business. She came back two years after your trial. She’d finished high school in whichever corn place she went to, then got a job with one of the local beauty shops. Then about ten years ago, she up and starts this new salon. Rumor has
it that the Lindens loaned her a lot of money.’

  ‘Rumor?’ Jamie asked. ‘Or fact?’

  ‘Rumor,’ Prew said. ‘I kept tabs on her after she came back. I wondered if the Lindens had put pressure on her to leave back then, so that she couldn’t testify that Richard had started the whole mess by groping her. If they had, that would have been witness tampering and I really wanted something on Linden Senior. I was also worried that they’d give her trouble, but she claimed they’d been nothing but kind to her.’

  Thorne snorted. ‘Right.’

  ‘I didn’t believe her either,’ Prew admitted, ‘but I couldn’t dig deeper unless she made a complaint.’

  ‘Why were you hoping to get something on Linden Senior?’ Phil asked curiously.

  ‘Because he makes my skin crawl. His son made my skin crawl. His daughter . . . I never knew her well enough to form an opinion, but Dick Linden Senior is a shark. I don’t trust him, so I keep tabs on his businesses. Just in case something looks amiss.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m retired. I look back at your case as a blight on my record, Mr Thorne. I didn’t believe you did it, but I couldn’t prove it. I’ve always been sorry for that.’

  ‘You’re talking to me now,’ Thorne said. ‘It’s far more than I expected. Is Angie’s business successful?’

  ‘That I don’t know. It seems to be, from the outside. For instance, I saw her at a community fund-raiser recently. She was wearing shoes that had to cost a month’s salary. And before you ask, my wife knows shoes. She told me that.’

  ‘Her place is called Heavenly Salon,’ Gwyn said, looking at her phone. She glanced up briefly. ‘I Googled Angie’s name. She’s listed as the owner. I’m considering a whole new look,’ she said, tossing back her hair, which she’d allowed to dry in ringlets. It was Thorne’s favorite of all her hairstyles. Just free and natural. Just begging for him to run his fingers through it.

  And that’s enough of that, he thought. Focus.

  ‘What do you hope to gain?’ Prew asked.

  ‘Information. If she’s indebted to Linden, I’d like to know. If her business is thriving, good for her. If she’s having trouble making ends meet?’ Gwyn lifted a shoulder. ‘She’d be vulnerable to someone either paying or extorting information.’